


i wanna be drunk when i wake up

by preshire



Series: misadventures of nick grimshaw and harry styles [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:12:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preshire/pseuds/preshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>brits 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna be drunk when i wake up

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 3 in the morning, but i quite like it. 
> 
> disclaimer: probably didn't happen exactly like this. don't own anyone blah blah

Nick’s mad at Harry, and has been mad at Harry since he skipped out on him for Valentine’s Day, and only sent him a fucking meat bouquet as recompense. That’s what he gets for dating an international celebrity; all his pining and burning loins result in a rather embarrassingly phallic shaped edible arrangement sent straight to his work, and a couple of prawn emojis.

Nick snubs him. He makes it a good couple of days before giving in and replying to Harry’s obnoxiously adorable voicemails of him singing horrible James Blunt covers. His replies are no less than scathing commentary on Harry’s pitch. He’s dating a vocalist, and he can’t even get a decent musical voicemail. Honestly.

But the Brits are coming up and Harry’s already been invited to his pre-Brits dinner party and it’d be even too rude for Nick’s standards to rescind an invitation on such short notice. He makes sure Harry knows he’s on thin ice by sending a variety of pictures of himself frowning. 

Harry can’t figure out what to wear, and Nick tells him to ask his bloody stylist. If Nick had a stylist, he wouldn’t be wasting a moment of his time on dressing himself. Caroline could sew him into his jeans; she practically did for Harry already anyways. 

He instructs him to wear stripes anyways, and when Harry shows up half hour earlier than what would be considered early to a party, Nick forgives him for leaving him alone with Fiona on Valentines. 

Harry spends the entire night hanging off his arm. Nick feels like he’s showing him off, which he probably is. Harry’s gorgeous, and Harry is his even though he’s not allowed to expressly mention that. Why wouldn’t he show him off? 

They all laugh and drink and crowd around for photos and Alexa scolds them and tells them not to post them all on instagram. Primarily because people think them enough of twats as it is and they don’t need to document their twattiness any more. Harry takes a sneaky picture on his phone of him smacking his lips on Nick’s cheek, with Nick making the absolute worst face. He delightedly giggles about it for a couple of minutes, before setting it as the background of his phone. Nick’s ridiculously fond of how shifty he looks when he’s trying his hardest not to look so pleased with himself. 

They go home to separate homes because Nick has to be up early and Harry needs enough rest  so that he won’t be too grumpy or tired looking when he performs at the Brits. Nick’s a bit sad about it, because he is an adult who can function without Harry Styles for one night. But he still stays up far too late talking to Harry on the phone. 

He tries not to imagine what it’s going to be like when Harry goes on a 10 month tour. One step at a time. 

He wakes up the morn of the Brit awards feeling only a bit resentful towards his job, instead of the a lot he generally feels. He knows that tomorrow, it’ll probably be a great deal harder to get to work on time. 

The day passes by excruciatingly slow, but Harry shows up at his flat at around 2 in the afternoon after he’s had a little catnap looking frazzled and nervous with a suit draped over his arm. 

Nick quickly diffuses Harry’s tension, and they giggle for a few minutes over how they have specially prepared for their suits to be semi-matching weeks back. They had to actually clear it through people, and it had been mostly Nick matching to Harry’s immovably chosen suit, but that’s neither here nor there. They roll around in bed for a quick pre-Brit awards romp, but after they’ve both come once they get down to business. Nick has his second shower of the day, and Harry fiddles with his hair for an unreasonably long time. 

Soon, it’s time for them to go but Harry’s got to meet up with his band and Nick’s got to meet up with the Breakfast Crew, so they go their separate ways. 

Nick presents the Best British Breakthrough Artist and he mostly pulls off the pronunciation against all odds. One Direction win the Brit for Global Success but they lose to Mumford and Sons for the Best Group, which is a bit sad even though they’ve won already. Nick snogs James Corden, much to Harry’s displeasure. Harry makes a face at Nick while they thank the nation for their award, and Matt Fincham claps Nick on the back gleefully. One Direction perform their charity single, more cougar jokes are made, and the camera pans onto Harry’s face when Taylor Swift performs. It should’ve panned to Louis’ or Nick’s; because even though they’ve had their differences, they both have got the same idea about Taylor Swift. 

The awards end, and the crowd disperses. Harry meets up with Nick at their first after party, and Nick spends at least 5 minutes dancing with Harry’s mum instead of him. Harry binge drinks a little bit with Nick while Anne turns a blind eye with only whispered threats directed towards Nick to protect her little boy before she departs. Nick wishes that old Eileen Grimshaw had been that cool when he was 19. 

Nick leads Harry to their next party, and Nick’s probably just as drunk as Harry is at this point and he doesn’t quite follow why Harry’s just blindly trusting his judgment. The paparazzi are loud and rude, but there are some teen girls who even gush a bit over Nick too, and he feels somehow vindicated. They make it to their destination, but not before taking some awful snapshots and Harry’s almost cross eyed for all of them. 

It’s either very late of very early, whoever you ask, and Nick feels a bit more sober when he leaves the second party. He shepherds a fumbling Harry to a taxi, and curses the gods who made the boy so lanky and awkward. He brings him back to his house, and he wants to cry a little bit when he realizes he has to leave for the Breakfast Show in little over an hour. Neither he nor Harry are tired yet; on the contrary Harry can’t seem to stop rearranging his furniture until Nick can’t properly open the door to his dining room. Nick puts on music, and they dance around to his most gangsta playlist, Harry rapping very badly to A$ap Rocky and Angel Haze tracks. They make out a little bit between songs, but they’re too drunk and clumsy to really initiate anything else. When they finally do hail a cab, Harry still has not changed out of his ruffled party clothes, and Nick’s had to grab a diet coke to try to fizzle out the Jägerbombs, and as a replacement for coffee.

Harry sits in the live lounge for a little while, and he keeps running around and fiddling with people on their way to do various tasks. Nick’s starting to really feel the weight of his all nighter, but he’s probably still quite drunk.

When Harry comes in, Matt Fincham doesn’t look as pleased as he should be with the Ladz FM reunion, but they barely notice through all their puzzling over simple autocorrect mistakes. Harry looks about ready to pass out by the time he’s being shooed out, and Nick’s on air so he just squeezes his hand to say goodbye. Ian calls someone to come pick Harry up while he’s still talking, and by the time he’s put on a new song, Harry’s wandered off. 

Nick’s a bit sad, with Harry barely saying goodbye, but he’s over it.

He gets through the rest or the show with no major catastrophe, and Nick’s never been more glad to go home. He begs every member of the team to drive him back to his, but he ends up calling a cab instead.

While in the cab, he briefly considers giving the driver Harry’s address. His popstar is off to be a popstar in just a few days. He’s going to miss him desperately. He decides against it though, since he’d rather just go home and sleep anyway. 

When he arrives back at his flat, even Thurston is padding around the house delicately as if he too has a hangover. Like a zombie, Nick lurches towards his bedroom, locks himself in, strips of his awful, awful jeans and throws himself into his bed. 

He’s so tired, and so braindead that he doesn’t notice Harry’s already in the bed sleeping until hours later. 


End file.
